


Cold Coming

by devilinthedetails



Series: The Dog, His Songbird, and His Urchins [4]
Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Family, Gen, Opening a Home, Poverty, Pride, Survival, Winter Coming, accomodations, charity - Freeform, preparations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 14:55:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15051629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: As winter approaches, Nestor worries about Haden and Truda's gang. Set before Bloodhound.





	Cold Coming

Cold Coming

When Nestor stepped out of the blustery late autumn evening into the sheltering warmth of his lodgings, he was greeted by the heady aroma of cider mulled with cinnamon and ginger from Carthak. As soon as the spices he indelibly associated with Okha’s native land tickled his nostrils, Nestor expected to be welcomed home with his lover’s embrace. Instead, upon glancing around the kitchen, he realized that it was empty apart from him and Haden, who wasn’t stirring the pot of mulled cider so much as he was heating his chapped hands over the hearth flames, Nestor noted with an affectionate blending of amusement and exasperation. 

“Where’s Okha, lad?” Nestor clapped Haden on the shoulder in greeting. 

“At the markets buyin’ fish with Truda.” Haden offered the cheeky grin that accentuated his lost eyetooth. “I’m under strict orders from Okha to welcome ye home with mulled cider to warm ye elsewise Okha will box me ears.” 

“Serve yourself some cider too.” Nestor rumpled Haden’s cinnamon brown hair as Haden grabbed a mug from a cabinet and ladled cider into it for Nestor. 

“Thank ye, sir.” Haden’s roguish grin broadened into a grateful beam as he extended the mug to Nestor, who accepted it with a short nod of appreciation. “Don’t mind if I do.” 

As Haden filled a second mug with steaming cider, Nestor cupped his palms around his, urging the warmth to seep through his cracked skin into his chilled bones, and remarked, “Winter is coming.” 

“Aye.” With the impatience of youth, Haden slurped at his cider. An instant later, he spat it back into the mug, gasping and grumbling colorfully obscene phrases a boy could only learn roaming the streets of Port Caynn. Ignoring the mildly reproachful look Nestor shot him for his excessive profanity, Haden continued as if he hadn’t been too hasty in gulping his cider, “Every morning when Truda and I wake up, there’s frost on our windowpanes, and whenever we walk by the wharves, there’s a cold wind whippin’ off the water.” 

“You still run with your gang of urchins.” Nestor blew on his cider to cool it, seeming to change the subject as swiftly as the wind howling off the Emerald Ocean could shift though to him the topics of winter and Haden’s gang were an inextricably interwoven tapestry. 

“This cider isn’t strong enough to make a lad with his wits about him like me loose in the tongue.” Haden’s eyes were suspicious, serpentine slits. “Ye didn’t forbid me to run with them, though, so the answer is aye, and ye shouldn’t complain about it either since they help me keep tabs on them ye order me to track and protect Truda when she delivers yer precious messages.” 

“You’re right. I never forbade you or Truda running with your old gang.” Nestor had known better than to prohibit Haden and Truda seeking the protection of their urchin gang when they roved the streets to complete the missions Nestor assigned them. Besides Nestor was sufficiently shrewd to recognize that Haden and Truda would never heed such a restriction, and he would only undermine his authority with them by issuing such a commandment. “Your gang has always been useful enough to me that I’m concerned about their welfare this winter. Where will your gang be sleeping once the cold comes?” 

“In the sewers like they always do.” Haden gave a small shrug that couldn’t conceal his worry about how many of his friends might not survive to see another spring. “They’ll huddle together in the scummer to keep warm as may be.” 

“The sewers flood.” Nestor didn’t want to envision Haden and Truda’s gang curled up to sleep in the sewers with all the lonely, starving masses of mumpers, so he made the invitation he and Okha had been contemplating since the first leaves of autumn fell. “Our basement would be drier and wouldn’t have any risk of flooding at high tide.”

“My gang don’t take charity, sir.” Haden gnawed on his lip and rubbed his thumb over the rim of his mug. 

“It’s not charity, Haden.” Nestor smiled slightly as he sipped at his cider. “It’s payment from me for the help and protection they’ve given you and Truda when you two work for me. You tell them that.” 

“I will, sir.” Haden almost spilled his mug of burning cider on Nestor as he gave Nestor a wild hug Nestor believed he would remember into his senility as the first one the boy he regarded as his adoptive son had ever bestowed upon him. “Thank ye from the bottom of me wicked heart.” 

Nestor patted Haden on the head and cleared his throat until he was capable of gruff speech. “You can also tell them that if they steal anything, I’ll take it out of their hide with some interest added.” 

“Aye, I’ll tell them that.” Haden’s smug smirk suggested that he had noticed that despite Nestor’s frequent threats to thrash him and his sister, Nestor had never beaten either of them since they had come under his and Okha’s roof. “I’ll also assure them that ye’re one Dog with a bark worse than yer bite, sir.”


End file.
